


Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

by piesexual_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Sex, Gender or Sex Swap, Humor, Other, Plot, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piesexual_dean/pseuds/piesexual_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of drinking leaves Dean feeling a little strange the next morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really have a game plan for this fic yet so I'm just gonna go where it takes me. Hope everyone enjoys. Next chapter up soon.

The air was stale and the lights were dim but the whiskey was top shelf and Dean wasn’t buying. He was already three sheets to the wind when she walked in and caught his eye. She seemed out of place in the dingy corner bar with her brightly painted lips and fitted black dress.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…I’m afraid I have to cut this little celebration short. Something just came up,” Dean slurred as he clapped his brother on the shoulder, nodding in her direction. “Kick rocks. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Uh, Dean? Don’t you think you’re getting just a little ahead of yourself?” Sam smirked. “You’re hammered.”

“Just get outta here will ya? Your game’s so bad it’ll throw me off,” he complained before slinging back the last of his drink. Sam pointedly rolled his eyes but put his hands up in surrender and gathered his things.

“And pay the tab, loser. A bet’s a bet and I won fair and square!” he chided as Sam pushed in his chair to leave.

“Yeah, yeah…you just got lucky!” Sam goaded as he shoved a crumpled hundred under the edge of his empty glass. “Bet you won’t get that lucky twice in one night.” Before Dean could reply, Sam had made his way out the front door.

She really was beautiful...loose blonde curls draped across her shoulders and striking blue eyes. A long gold chain hung around her neck with a large, red, stone pendant delving down into her cleavage. Dean tried not to gawk as he waited for his drink and racked his brain for the best opener he could come up with in 30 seconds. When his waitress arrived he thanked her with a wink and a smile before scrubbing a hand across his face and letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The whiskey hit him hard when he went to stand.

“So, why is someone as beautiful as yourself sitting all alone in a place like this?” he asked, plastering on his best Dean Winchester smile and sliding clumsily into the seat across from her.

“I’m flattered, really, but kindly get lost,” she said matter-of-factly, barely sparing him a glance.

“Ouch,” Dean feigned hurt with a hand over his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever been turned down that quick before. You didn’t even give me a chance to be an asshole first,” he quipped, hoping for at least a smile. She finally met his eyes and he winked playfully, nursing his drink.

“You’re not used to being told no, are you?” she asked, eyes cutting daggers through him. He huffed an embarrassed laugh in return and made to stand. “You can stay,” she decided coldly before he completely left his seat. Dean relaxed back down, finishing the last of his drink.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” he grinned, sitting the empty glass down with a thump.

“Crystal,” she replied with a predatory smile…

The light of morning filtered in through dusty motel room curtains. A shower was running and the smell of cheap coffee quickly mixed with the clean, sharp scent of soap. Dean stirred beneath the scratchy floral comforter, stretching and rubbing his eyes to adjust to the brightness of day. He arched his back and yawned wide before finally tossing the blankets aside and moving a hand down into his boxers to scratch absentmindedly. He stopped suddenly, eyes wide and hand pawing frantically. Something wasn't right.

Dean quickly pulled at his waistband to take a look. As his mind began to process, he fell back on the bed before clumsily catching himself on his elbows. He quickly noticed that something else wasn’t quite right either. Both hands flew to his chest, feeling and poking and prodding.

“No freaking way,” he whispered under his breath. The foreign sound that passed his lips nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. After a few calming breaths Dean finally managed to sit back up. He gingerly stretched the collar of his shirt forward and took a good, long look. “I’m a freaking girl!” he shrieked, groping himself frantically. “SAM!”

Within seconds Sam was rushing from the bathroom, towel bunched in one hand in a hurried attempt at modesty. Water streamed down his face and his hair was still lathered with shampoo. He blushed bright pink as he locked eyes with the pretty blonde girl occupying his brother’s bed.

“Um, is s-something wrong?” he stuttered, trying to adjust his towel to cover more. “Are you looking for Dean?” Sam quickly scanned the room. Did his brother really have the nerve to bring some girl to their room while he was still in it? Why didn’t he hear them last night?

“Sam, you dunce it’s me!” Dean shrieked. “And something is very, very wrong here,” Dean motioned dramatically from head to toe.

“Uh, I’m a little confused,” Sam started, face scrunched in confusion. “Have we met before?”

“Hello! It’s me…Dean…your freaking brother,” he howled as he went to stand.

“Dean?” Sam questioned with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded impatiently. He tried awkwardly to cross his arms and gave up with a huff.

“How? What the…?” Sam sputtered.

Dean stormed across the room, noting his very obvious new height difference as he shoved violently past his brother and into the bathroom. The mirror was coated with a thick, foggy layer and he scrubbed frantically at it until finally catching sight of himself. His eyes were all he recognized, the same bright green as always staring back at him. The rest of his features had softened dramatically. His nose was much more delicate, having altered to fit the new narrow shape of his face. The strong jaw-line he was used to was now rounded and feminine. His skin looked as smooth and hairless as it did when he was a kid, a spattering of familiar freckles the only imperfection that remained. Long, honey-colored hair framed his face, still mussed from sleep. At that moment, Dean Winchester let out the most undignified, high-pitched scream his ears had ever had the displeasure of hearing.

“Dean, just calm down,” Sam said slowly, approaching gently.

“Calm down?” he screamed. “You just want me to calm down? I have freaking tits, Sam!” Dean grabbed his newly sprouted boobs for emphasis. “And don’t even get me started on what’s missing down south,” he huffed, gesturing lewdly to his crotch.

“Just relax. Breathe, Dean…just breathe,” Sam coached. “We’ve been in the middle of some pretty weird crap and I’m sure we’ll figure all of this out but first you need to chill.”

“Easy for you to say, Sasquatch!” he roared, poking Sam in the chest. “You’re not a foot shorter and running on estrogen!”

“Dean,” Sam grabbed him by the shoulders. “Go sit down, take a breath, let me get dressed and we’ll sort this out.” Dean shrugged indignantly out of his grasp.

“Fine,” he spat, shouldering past Sam roughly and plopping down onto the closest bed.

When Sam returned from the bathroom he found his brother lying flat, poking each side of his chest experimentally and watching the resulting jiggle. Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. Dean sat upright grinning. “You know, these things are just as fun when they belong to you as they are on someone else,” he half laughed.

“I’m so glad you can find the silver lining in all of this,” Sam returned sarcastically. “Now, do you maybe wanna get some clothes on so we can go back to that bar and look around?” Dean nodded. He hurriedly rifled through a duffle bag, pulling out a pair of sweats with a pull string and a well-worn Metallica t-shirt. Without a second thought, Dean stripped his shirt off. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam shielded his face with both hands. “Dude, I really don’t need to see all that,” he sputtered.

“Uh, sorry man…habit,” Dean squeaked, scrambling to cover himself and bolting towards the bathroom. He returned in pants that dragged past his feet and a shirt that could pass for a dress. “I need shoes, Sam. Those size twelves aren’t gonna cut it,” he sighed, nodding at the large boots by the door.

“Uh, I think you need more than shoes. We’ll stop somewhere,” Sam assured his brother.

“I am not wearing a bra, Samantha,” Dean shouted from inside the dressing room. “Just hand me the crap you picked out so I can find something that fits already.” Sam reached over the flimsy door and tossed his brother a handful of clothes. “Ha, ha, very freaking funny,” Dean spat sarcastically after discovering a very ruffly pink dress in the mix.

“How do chicks where these jeans? They’re so damned tight I can taste denim,” he complained from behind the slatted door. “I’m just gonna have to go commando because these boxers are not working right now.”

“Are you almost done?” Sam groaned. Just then the door swung open. Dean stepped through wearing combat boots, skinny jeans, and a fitted black v-neck layered under flannel. “Good,” Sam nodded as he gave his brother a once over. “You almost look like you.”

They parked in an alley behind the bar and Dean made quick work of the door. “So, did you go home with anyone last night?” Sam asked as the lock popped.

“Uh, I woke up in our room didn’t I?” he answered. “After that chick, Crystal, left me with blue balls I walked back to the motel.” Dean stumbled over an empty crate before finding a light switch.

“Dude, I told you that you were in over your head,” Sam laughed. Dean flipped him the bird and they both began searching through every drawer, crate, and closet they came across. “You didn’t talk to anyone else? Nothing seemed off at all?” Sam prodded as he thumbed through some well-worn notebooks in a back room.

“No, I just tried my luck with her, had a drink or two…I thought I might just get lucky when she moved over next to me and got real handsy,” Dean smirked. “But after she shoved her tongue down my throat and popped my fly she just pushed me away…like I was the one cornering her instead of the other way around. Then she got up and walked off like nothing even had happened.” He rifled through a few boxes stacked in a corner. “I thought she was just screwing with me…a game or something, so I went to follow her but she was already gone when I got outside.”

“You sure it wasn’t your breath, dude,” Sam goaded.

“Ha, ha, ha… laugh it up prick,” mocked Dean. “Just remember that the last witch you pissed off gave you the clap.”

Ignoring his brother’s last comment, Sam finished searching the last drawer of a desk he'd been rifling through. “Well, we’ve been through just about everything and there's nothing here,” he decided, brushing the dust from his knees. “But that girl from last night definitely sounds weird. You certainly know how to piss ‘em off,” sighed Sam. “I guess we should’ve just looked for a hex bag.”

“I freaking hate witches,” Dean muttered, face twisted in disgust. He followed Sam out of the room, slamming his chest hard into the door frame as he passed. “Holyshitgoddamnmotherfuck!” he wailed, grabbing at his chest like he’d just took a shot to the heart. “That hurts so much more than expected.” Dean rubbed at the sore place.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, brows scrunched with concerned. “What the hell happened?”

“I hit my tit…that’s what happened,” Dean barked. “These things are fucking sensitive!”  
Sam couldn’t stifle his laughter.

“At least balls don’t stick out so far that you just hit ‘em against random shit…these things need a warning label or something,” he whined.

They made their way back to the motel and began turning the room upside down. Even the toilet tank was subjected to their search. No dice.  
Dean leaned back in a corner chair propping a foot up and sighing deeply. Sam perched himself on the edge of a bed, hand carding anxiously through his hair. “Let’s just call Cas, Dean,” suggested Sam. “There’s obviously no hex bag here and we can’t go back to the bar to question anyone until it opens. Maybe we’ll luck out and he’ll know exactly what this is.”

"Yeah, because that’s how our lives work…right,” Dean huffed sarcastically. “Go ahead and call him…I’ve gotta drain the tank.”

The bathroom door clicked softly shut and he leaned against the cold, rust stained sink. Raising his head slowly, he took a good, long look in the mirror. A strand of stray hair tumbled across a cheek and he tugged at it experimentally before tucking it back into place behind an ear. He wriggled out of his shirt, taking a wide step back to thoroughly examine his new body. “At least I’m a hot girl,” he half whispered, eyeing himself at different angles and cupping both breasts in his hands. The anti-possession tattoo curved along the swell of a breast, still etched above his heart. He traced its familiar shape with a delicate fingertip. “I’d do me,” he nodded to himself in approval.


End file.
